One of These Afternoons
by Beatrice Otter
Summary: “How many times have I told you that the point of vacation is … to relax. Have fun. Not work.” Jack and Sam, between seasons eight and nine, hanging out.


Warning/Spoilers: Set between Season 8 and Season 9

Prompt(s): summertime & Sam needs another set of hands to complete a scientific repair. Too bad they have to be Jack's.

Betaed by: thothmes

* * *

Someone was walking, quietly, across the dirt to the truck Sam lay under. After eight years on SG-1, Daniel could move that stealthily but seldom bothered unless he was in the field. Teal'c never moved any other way, despite his size and bulk, but given the amount of bug spray he insisted on covering himself with to combat the Minnesota mosquitoes, she'd be able to smell him by now. Sam glared at the bolt she was trying to tighten, then at the wrench in her hand—it was the wrong one. "Hey, sir, could you hand me the wrench sitting on the battery?"

There was a pause, and the scrape of metal against plastic as the Colonel picked up the wrench. She scooted herself over to stick a hand out from under the truck, felt the comforting weight of the wrench slap onto her palm. "Thanks," she said, moving back into position. This would be much easier if Jack had the proper tools, and a creeper would come in handy right about now.

"Carter, _how_ many times have I told you—"

"Sorry, Jack," Sam said. "Force of habit. _O'Neill_," she said pointedly.

"And how many times, _Sam_," Jack went on, "have I told you that the point of vacation is … to relax. Have fun. Not work."

"This _is_ fun," Sam said, grunting as the bolt was finally tightened to her liking. "And _your_ idea of fun is fishing in a lake with no fish. I don't think you have room to complain about my hobbies." Satisfied that she'd done all she could (given the available tools) to take care of the rattle she'd noticed on the drive in to Jack's cabin from the airport, Sam edged out from under Jack's truck and climbed to her feet. She closed the hood and wiped her hands off on her towel. "I think I need a new project. Rebuild a car or something, maybe. Shouldn't take me as long as the Indian did, considering I have actual regular hours at Area 51, and don't have to worry about the world ending if I take a day off."

"How's the Indian doing?" Jack asked, leaning against the truck. "Siler must have been heartbroken to see it go."

"Yeah," Sam said, burying a trace of regret. She truly was happy with her new assignment. "You know, when I was at the SGC there were some months he rode it more than I did? I was just too busy with SG-1 and the SGC's science department to go out often." She joined Jack, leaning against the truck, and gazed around at the forest surrounding the cabin. Green growing things were one of the things she missed at Area 51. Colorado Springs had been dry, but at least there had been grass and trees. This was the second time she'd been at the Colonel's--General's--_Jack's_ cabin, and both times it had been lush and green. Of course, she thought, ignoring the way her tank top stuck unpleasantly to her skin, it was now a lot hotter and muggier than it had been in early spring.

"You could have let _me_ take it out for a spin," Jack said. "I'd have been perfectly happy to make sure everything was working properly when you were too busy."

Sam laughed. "No offense, sir, but that bike is a 1940 Indian motorcycle in mint condition. Siler, I trust to take care of it for me. I've seen how close you've come to breaking some of Daniel's toys, over the years."

"I think a motorcycle is a _little_ more robust than a thousand year old clay bowl," Jack said.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean I want it scratched," Sam said. "The Harley, now, that's another story. It's a good solid bike, but it's not an antique. If you want to come out to Area 51 some time, we can go out riding together, me on the Indian and you on the Harley. The scenery's more boring than Colorado, but the roads are straighter and easier to drive and there's less traffic."

"I'd love to, Sam," Jack said, "but while your new job may take _less_ time than your old one, mine takes _more_." He gave an elaborate shudder. "And it's not even the paperwork that's the worst problem. Now, I have to go to _cocktail_ _parties_. And _receptions_. And _schmooze_ people who control budgets and things."

"Worse than the Goa'uld," Sam said with a straight face.

"Definitely," Jack said. "Goa'uld you can usually just shoot. You don't have to make nice with them."

"Weren't you the one who used to tell me I needed to have a break and relax before stress made me 'nuts'?" Sam said, smile on her face. "Come on. It'll do you good to get away." Much as she missed the SGC sometimes, it was wonderful to be able to give that invitation without worrying about what base gossip would have to say about the pretty, female officer spending time alone with her male CO.

"Well, guess I can't argue with that," Jack said.

"O'Neill!" Teal'c called as he came around the corner of the house. "The grill requires your attention."

"Duty calls," Jack said, straightening up. "You ready for our last team meal with everyone on the same planet?" he asked.

"Not really," Sam said, knowing how much she'd miss Daniel when he was in Atlantis and Teal'c when he was offworld with the Free Jaffa. "But we've known this was coming for a while. I don't think it'll get any easier."

"Guess not," Jack said. He nodded towards the cabin. "There's a grill calling my name."

"I'd better go clean up," Sam said, gesturing to the grease on her hands. "Have fun playing with meat and fire."


End file.
